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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791893">fallen alien in the blazing sun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery'>icedmachinery</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine'>icemachine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doom Patrol (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Sex, But also, Claiming, Intimacy, Other, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:40:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedmachinery/pseuds/icedmachinery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/icemachine/pseuds/icemachine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like it,” Keeg admits in vulnerability, “when you call me beautiful. No one has ever called me… that.”</p><p>This induces a soft laugh from Flex, who is soft in every way, emitting tenderness like their light. “You want me to keep going?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keeg Bovo/Flex Mentallo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fallen alien in the blazing sun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Do you trust me?" </p><p> </p><p>They both know the void-hungry depths of this question quite intimately. Keeg will accept any answer, knows that Flex would never lie to them. The question contains many layers of infinite expansion; there is no simple answer, Keeg expects an <em> I don’t know, </em>expects his answer to be equally layered. They’ve been through too much. Flex, considering their experiences, has no reason to trust them. The circumstances of their meeting was too unfortunate, too shredding. But—</p><p> </p><p>He answers as if it is a ridiculous question. He answers like he knows the answer, like he believes in this answer religiously.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I do,” he responds. “We’ve been through so much together. How could I not trust you?”</p><p> </p><p>Keeg resting against his bare chest. They’re in the manor’s guest bedroom. They are holy together. Flex reaches down to press his lips into their forehead. <em> Comfort. </em> Flex views them as comfort trickling down into the hopetainted — traumatized — hopetainted heart that he possesses. It is a pure heart. It is a heart that has found home -- Keeg has nested within the chambers of it, has curled up and nuzzled into the muscle. And Keeg’s presence is eternal; nothing can ever extinguish them, nothing can ever ruin them. They are strength, the reason for the tainting nature of hope. They lack familiarity in every way, and they had no reason to show him kindness, they had no reason to help him escape. They are <em> whole.  </em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m not human.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re more human than a lot of people I’ve met,” he counters. “I mean it.”</p><p> </p><p>Keeg knows what the statement refers to. It’s not a hard comparison, yet Keeg feels a warmth grow inside of their body -- if their inconsistent existence can ever be labelled a <em> body -- </em>regardless, feels their “body” parse his touch at a level of intensity that they previously believed was impossible. It’s — it’s —</p><p> </p><p>It’s love.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” they whisper. It is not intended as a whisper. It was supposed to be loud, defiant, declaring — the statement <em> I love you </em>written in their language underneath, a careful bone set of words that they have never known. “I trust you too,” they add. “In case you were wondering.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Flex says, his head shaking slightly. “You wanna know how I knew that you trust me?”</p><p> </p><p>Keeg is curious. Flex knows them in every way, Flex would know them in any iteration, in any life. They have seen each other in the universe’s emotion, in every fright and in every horror and in every love-worthy casket. “How did you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>“You were relaxed when I was with Larry,” he explains. “I felt it. The first time that you connected our minds. You trusted that I would keep the both of you safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Keeping Larry safe is my duty. I knew upon meeting you that your intentions were pure. You just… radiated it. Your aura was golden.”</p><p> </p><p>“Funny.” Flex smiles down at them; it’s like the inspiring light of a planet, a willing, evoked incineration. “That’s what I thought about you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I just knew I could trust you. You were a victim just like I was, but you were still so brave. All you wanted was to help him get out of there, to keep him going.” His hand brushes over their shoulder. “And also, you’re like some sort of angel, I swear. You were beautiful.”</p><p> </p><p>Keeg’s grip on Flex’s torso tightens at the word <em> beautiful, </em> his skin paling, his breath -- always so <em> warm </em>against them, always so enlightening, they feel their shape begin to dissipate as it quickens, as they place the word in their mind and spin it on repeat, also planet-like, their entire existence shifting to revolve around this sunlight. No one has ever called them beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>“You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I like it,” Keeg admits in vulnerability, “when you call me beautiful. No one has ever called me… that.”</p><p> </p><p>This induces a soft laugh from Flex, who is soft in every way, emitting tenderness like their light. “You want me to keep going? I could talk <em> all day. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“If you want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” he continues. “And I’ve — I’ve seen a lot of things, Keeg. You’re beautiful, but you’re also kind, you’re helpful<em> , </em>and… hot, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Go on about that.”</p><p> </p><p>His skin against them now, his other hand tracing over theirs, constellations; they don’t even yearn for home anymore, instead they yearn for this, safety, this, a differentiation.  </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Flex says---he knows their intentions. “Does this get you—”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t tell you this enough, but Keeg, you’re so <em> good, </em> ” he breathes; some new warmth. “You make me feel so good. All the time. And when we’re not together, I think about you every night.” Their hands break — they cover his hand with their hand, an invitation, a guide. “I think about you… ah.. <em> taking </em>me, so slowly and gently, ‘cause we have all the time in the world and you’re so good that I never want it to end.”</p><p> </p><p>“You know you can say ‘fuck’, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Flex laughs. “Yeah, I know. I’m saving it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me more,” Keeg asks -- <em> begs. </em>“Tell me what else you think about.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think about you claiming me,” he says; they can tell that it is hard to admit, that it is embarrassing for him, but they place his hand between their thighs, <em> keep going, this doesn’t have to end. </em>“Um…. about you…”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“No… it’s just… I don’t know if you’d want to do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I want anything you want.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, beautiful. The word of purity. “I want you to tell me I’m yours, and I want you to show it, I want you to mark me so that everyone knows that I’m yours. You’re so powerful, you can do anything, and yet you still want me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can do that,” Keeg says. “I can do that now. You can walk out of this room and everyone will know that I claimed you. That we were together. Is that okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Flex says, his singular word full endlessly of trust and love, <em> love. </em>“Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Keeg has always been swift -- they move to straddle him within seconds of his whimper, they know that he has wanted this since their first meeting in the Ant Farm, that he dreams of it in every shadow. They do not waste any time removing his shorts — they’ve had their moments of tenderness, the time of tender-slow sex has been temporarily shed. It’s hunger now. A wholesome hunger, but a hunger.</p><p> </p><p>Keeg lowers their form down over his hips—-<em> it feels so good </em> — <em> everything — </em>as they press his cock inside of them, pulsing around it. “I want to feel you first,” they tell him, “like this. And then I’ll fuck you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t care,” he manages, breath shattering. “It just — you’re — ah — you’re <em> so </em> good, you’re being so good for me, so good—-” and Keeg steadies themselves to ride <em> harder, </em>to go faster, starving, starving, “I — love you — sh—”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” Keeg says -- it sounds like an exhale, a softened moan. They increase the pace of their movements, bucking their hips forward, it’s holy, it’s everything anyone has ever been told to pray to. “Fuck, I love you too, <em> you’re </em> so good.” They place two hands on his abdomen — just high enough for their mark to show above his clothing — and lean over to whisper against his ear in the kindest voice that their lack of humanity can find. <em> And you’re mine. You belong to </em> <b> <em>me.</em> </b></p><p> </p><p>With the emphasis on <em> me, </em>Keeg lets out two gentle sparks from their fingertips. It’s not enough to leave a permanent burn, it branches out like bolts of lightning, and they tailored themselves into being painless. They haven’t caused any harm, but it is the truth now, it is evident; Flex Mentallo and Keeg Bovo belong to each other. This proves it.</p><p> </p><p>“J—<em> -fuck,” </em> he says, losing himself further into a pale celestial void as Keeg slows down their movements. “Please, <em> please—” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Say it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>“No. All of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck me,” he says, and then repeats it, like it’s the only holy phrase he knows. “Fuck me, fuck me, Keeg, please, pl—”</p><p> </p><p>“Where.”</p><p> </p><p>At first he thinks they mean <em> where do you want it? </em> The answer to that, the one true answer, is <em> anywhere. </em>Keeg could take him anywhere, in any area they desired. He loves them. He loves them.</p><p> </p><p>Then he realizes what they truly mean.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s in the drawer,” he says. “Night stand.”</p><p> </p><p>The absence of Keeg’s touch as they retrieve it is dizzying. He wants them -- he wants to feel them, <em> now, </em>eternally. They have time.</p><p> </p><p>“Is there a way you can, like,” he questions, because it’s something he’s always wondered, “use negative energy or magic or whatever to—”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably,” they reply, handing him the bottle. “But I’d rather see you do it yourself. It’s… <em> beautiful. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>He works quickly, prepares himself with a mixture of care and mania. Some part of him wishes that Keeg could do this — that’s one downfall of having a partner that lacks skin. Flex thanks someone as he works — it resembles a prayer, in a way, an offering to thank whatever being decided to give him Keeg and Keeg’s blessing.</p><p> </p><p>He feels, finally, at peace.</p><p> </p><p>“Ready.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s still not exactly sure how Negative Spirit biology works. With a bit of concentration, Keeg is able to shift their frame into various forms -- multiple arms, larger body, along with the ability to manifest something of their own, just for him, just to fuck him with and no one else and <em> fuck, </em> he belongs to them, fuck,  he’s <em> theirs </em>and theirs only and for this eternal ethereal being to crave him—</p><p> </p><p>It crackles as they push into him, always so gentle, always so kind. They are always so considerate of his fears, but he trusts them, he knows that he can trust them, a truth that exists in every corner of every galaxy.  </p><p> </p><p>“F---<em> fuck—” </em></p><p> </p><p>“I love it when you say that,” Keeg says. “You should say it more often.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” It’s all that he can think of; their movements resemble thievery, stealing his words criminal. He embraces the silence; their thrusts are increasing now, unbearable, divine, unbearable, his mind and vision and every form of perception he has clouding over in complete pleasure. They’re so <em> good. </em>They are virtue captured humanoid.</p><p> </p><p>It is also overwhelming for Keeg, who is not used to feeling so much; their senses work differently than the sensory perception of humans. It exists within every layer of their presence. It is in every single part of their composure. Flex, around them, is all that they have ever felt. It bleeds through linear time, gaining omnipresence. </p><p> </p><p>They find themselves satiated when he comes — and they find their release as they gaze at his face, buried deep in the forests of harmony. It’s so — they are both so -- <em> beautiful. </em></p><p> </p><p>They cannot comprehend a life without him.</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ahaha it is once again 1 am and im writing stuff like this</p><p>kudos+feedback appreciated</p></blockquote></div></div>
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